The reality of going it alone — a writer’s perspective

When I quit my well-paying job in Dubai as a journalist at a large company, I received much praise from my colleagues, which wasn’t as freely available on a regular workday. It was a huge decision — quitting anything is — and you’re as deeply wracked by doubt and anxiety as you are consumed by excitement and a sense of exhilaration. From everyday-life syndrome, quitting is deliverance into the wild unknown. It is freedom.

Picture this: you’re on the edge of a hill, and everything you’ve always wanted, or think you’ve wanted, is across the valley atop the hill on the other side. As you approach the edge, the way is clear — take one step after another, stick to the course, don’t look down, balance the beam and stay focused. Before you know it, you’ll arrive. And you can’t wait.

Except, of course, it isn’t even one-millionth that simple or easy. Except, with great freedom comes great responsibility.

You’re already walking over the abyss and too far to turn back to your starting point when a dense fog descends. You can’t see anything. At all. You’re disoriented and the bridge you are walking on suddenly turns into a double-edged sword.

You do prepare yourself for those periods of uncertainty, when you suddenly feel like you can’t take another step forward, and you’re paralyzed by fear. But, if we truly could and did armor ourselves against the unknown, then we’d never learn from our mistakes or circumstances, never know what we’re made of, and never discover detours, surprises and shocks along the way. I recently read on a blog (apologies that I don’t remember where): it’s only when you steep a tea bag in hot water that it becomes tea, robust in flavor.

Being responsible for yourself — physically, emotionally and financially — is one of the hardest things to achieve, because you’re all you have. You can’t fall back on your family to bail you out, nor blame your partner or friends when you fail.

But it’s important to understand that your understanding of failure is relative, and generally you fail in your eyes. You fail to live up to your expectations, your dreams, your imagined successes. Failure can be a powerful motivator, because ultimately you need to prove to yourself that you can, that you have what it takes. It can also be a terrifying black hole you get stuck in if your demons are bigger than your perspective.

The past year and a few months have been illuminating, in the sense that I have been experiencing a life I’ve always known of second-hand through books, movies, popular culture. I never thought I would be a full-time writer — I’ve always flitted between one thing and the next — and I pictured myself as a producer who can don any hat when needed. And the first lesson I learned? Never say never.

When, after years of planning and dreaming, I got the opportunity to be jack of all trades, I only wanted to master writing. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the production process; making a film, or producing content in general are incredibly fun, intense learning experiences and a fine way to tune your balancing skills. They are also a great way to enhance your creativity among peers and experts who most often provide immense encouragement and healthy competition. If you want a crash course in life and people skills, give production a shot.

In the midst of losing all my jobs that were keeping my Hollywood dreams afloat, I realized my calling — writer, storyteller. When I moved back to India, I was filled with a wild, newfound enthusiasm, and over six months, wrote several scripts and numerous articles for online and print publications. I even began to edit content for a website in the city.

And then the sorrows hit. That is Lesson 2 and ongoing — learning to embrace ambiguity and insecurity. Apart from the fact that writers — unless they’ve earned a reputation for themselves — are treated like small change, they are disrespected, paid astonishingly poorly, if at all, and face more rejections than acceptance. Yes, the Internet is boundless and its opportunities galactic, but the endlessness of possibilities doesn’t pay your bills. JK Rowling struggled for years before she became who she is today. Wasn’t she a fabulous writer even then? Of course, she was. But she was just a writer — she didn’t have a fancy CV, flashy connections, or the ability to self-sale, which I have seen guarantees success even if you don’t deserve it. [I concede that ‘deserve’ is not something I can judge]. I’m sure these things are regularly experienced by people struggling to make a mark. Add to that writer’s block and the precarious world of freelancing.

I’m guessing many of us are right in the centre of that gaping valley, primed to topple any moment. That would be unfortunate. Because of the fog you wouldn’t even see where you’re falling until you hit rock bottom.

But that’s the thing.

I’m a writer, and I can imagine. And then you truly understand what people mean when they say that the best kind of work is rooted in intense hardship and grief. Because we’re essentially survivalists as a race, the imagination becomes a way of redrawing the map you’ve been following. Dreaming, constantly, even if it’s as tiny as eating a cheesecake at the end of the week, becomes fuel for our aching spirits. Instead of fighting the haze, you surrender to it, and then realize that your eyes are growing accustomed to it. You can see just a millimeter farther than you could yesterday. But that is enough to help you take another step forward instead of collapsing into the abyss.

Going it alone is not a fairy tale. You don’t click your shoes and get to wherever you want to be. In fact, as a ‘free’ person, you’re far more bound to the realities of existence than you’d pay attention to when you’re comfortable. But if your heart is in the race, planted firmly on the path you’re on; if that is the one thing you are unwaveringly sure of no matter what people say or how circumstances play out, and you are in God’s will, you are meant to be no place else. Because the brightest rainbows colour the skies after the darkest storms, and you wouldn’t appreciate the blossoming of spring if winter hadn’t crushed everything with snow.

Let the journey change you. You deserve it.